


Blood

by Wander (devilsduplicity)



Series: Warning Sign [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Basically, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Cock Worship, Desk Sex, Exhibitionism, Kinda?, M/M, Oral Sex, Power Dynamics, Shimadacest, Sibling Incest, Under-Desk Blow Jobs, genji loves hanzo and he'll do anything for him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 10:14:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16084022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilsduplicity/pseuds/Wander
Summary: They call himinubehind his back. Dog.





	Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Warning Sign series. A few months after _First_.

They call him _inu_ behind his back. Dog. Genji hears their whispers, and bares his teeth, and on the first of the month (November, this morning particularly cold, him and his brother wrapped in sleek black layers, sharp and commanding, something Genji had picked out for the both of them) a new business partner arrives at their doorstep and Hanzo graces him with a private meeting.

A display of power.

Tomomi Shin, from the little town of Hakone, has the means to produce a particularly enthralling drug. He has the manpower to distribute it. He does not have the Shimada-gumi's permission to sling it across their streets.

Yet. 

In Hanzo's office, Genji does not have to kneel. He stands next to the desk, hip propped casually on polished sakura wood. Eyes averted to the door, arms crossed, jaw cutting a sharp line while his brother finishes his paperwork. 

Silent. Attentive.

_Inu_.

Tomomi-san fidgets in a hard-backed chair on the other side of the desk. Has been kept waiting for ten minutes now, the silence thick, palpable, the swirl of his needley fingers scraping against the fabric of his robe rather loud in comparison. 

Hanzo sets his pen down. Blue ink. Grabs the stack of papers and taps them out evenly before setting them aside. Turns a slow, critical eye to their guest, leaning forward to thread his fingers together in a delicate arch.

“You have a proposition for me.”

A statement.

The man swallows, nods. 

Genji's every molecule is focused on this stranger, though his eyes are cast to the door. He had been stripped of weapons and thoroughly searched before setting foot inside the Shimada family castle. Helpless. Regardless, were he fully armed, Genji has already analyzed his movements, pinpointed the way he had favored his left leg while entering the room ( _old injury on the right_ ), the way he looks around the quiet space without _seeing_.

The youngest Shimada suspects he could snuff out this life in three seconds.

Tomomi Shin coughs, rubs the back of his neck -- nervous.

Maybe less.

“Yes,” the man begins. “I believe the venture would be lucrative for all parties involved. If we could expand our outreach to Hanamura, and all the cities under your control-- Kobe, Yokohama, Sapporo--”

Hanzo's hand wanders to Genji's thigh. The one propped up on the desk. Visible, obvious to the stranger sitting before them. A firm thumb rubs gentle circles into the soft, black fabric of flowing pants. 

Tomomi pauses. Clears his throat.

“We can take care of every step of the process. But the Shimada-gumi's permission and protection are--”

“Genji,” Hanzo interrupts, and Genji snaps his attention to his brother immediately. He does not relax beneath the fingers stroking him, but he leans imperceptibly closer. A soft reassurance motioned between them, the language of two brothers, bonded -- _I am yours_.

“Have you tried this drug before?”

Genji tilts his chin. Glances at the ceiling to chase his thoughts.

“He calls it Himitsu?” Speaking of the man as if he is not in the room. “Yes.”

Hanzo does not ask, but Genji knows the question: _And?_

Throws a sharp grin Tomomi's way.

“I was unimpressed.”

In the man's defense, he does not pale. A fire burns in deep-set eyes, muddy, as if his cherished child has just been called _lacking_. Tomomi leans forward with a snarl on his lips, and Genji quirks an apathetic eyebrow his way.

“And what is the opinion of a dog?”

_Ah, the man has a spine._

Hanzo's thumb digs in, the edge of his fingernail indenting soft skin with a crescent moon, through a layer of fabric.

_But perhaps not for long._

Hanzo opens his mouth to reply, but Genji intercepts him. Softly. Respectfully.

“Oyabun-san, may I speak freely?”

Suspicion is not what shines at Genji through dark eyes turned his way. More curious than anything else. Appraising. Weighing the pros and cons of giving in.

Hanzo rarely finds Genji's ‘pros’ lacking, in this regard.

“Of course, ototo.”

Permission granted, Genji unfurls the arms crossed over his chest. Plants the heel of his hand against the desk, leaning languidly into it. Corner of his mouth pulls up in a cruel sneer when green eyes sit heavy on the face of a man he could kill in less than three seconds. 

“If my Oyabun tells me to bark, I will bark. If he tells me to bite, I will do as such.”

Genji doesn't stand at full attention. He doesn't move closer to the stranger. Rather, he leans nearer to his brother, parts his thighs so very slowly, a minute motion, a physical testament to how much he is willing to _give_.

“You mistake my loyalty for incompetence, Tomomi-kun.” The familiar honorific an obvious barb. Genji is clearly several decades this man's junior.

“I would be a fool to not bow to a dragon of such power. His blood is my blood, after all.”

The thumb at his thigh rises a little higher. Digs a little deeper. 

Genji throws a lazy grin Tomomi's way, challenging him to look down on his position as Shimada Hanzo's _inu_.

Before the stranger can respond, Hanzo himself speaks up, his tone a firm thread encased in steel.

“Genji. On your knees. Warm me while we discuss this matter.”

A few months ago, Genji would have blanched. He would have fought hard to school his features into something bland and unreadable. He would have screamed his protests at Hanzo, even if only in the privacy of his own mind.

Now, his grin only softens. He turns to Hanzo, nods, says, “Of course, Oyabun-san.”

The act of sinking to his knees beneath Hanzo's desk is, by now, a familiar one. His brother shifts to give him room. There is already a soft cushion placed there for his comfort. 

If Tomomi is disturbed by this, protests it, reacts in any way, it is lost on Genji.

Here, beneath the desk, there is only Hanzo, and the unhurried part of his legs.

In their shared quarters, Genji likes to tease. Takes his time. Dotes affection to Hanzo's cock until it is hard beneath fabric and straining for skin-to-skin contact. 

Now, though, he has been given an order.

When Genji dips delicate fingers into the folds of his brother's pants -- silk, soft, layers blending together -- he finds the stiff, twitching press of interest.

How silly. Had Genji's words effected Hanzo so?

He pulls Hanzo out with care, places a delicate kiss on that smooth, wet tip, then parts his lips and sinks _down_.

Immediately, puffy pink pieces of insulation stuff up all the space between his ears. Genji has found, from the first moment Hanzo's cock had occupied his mouth, that the unbearable sense of _belonging_ pegs him as an addict.

He doesn't move his tongue. Doesn't suck. Not yet. Simply holds Hanzo inside him, and revels in the texture, the warmth, how the shaft twitches and expands so slowly, as if eager to bury itself in Genji's welcoming heat. 

Above, Tomomi's voice is little more than a murmur -- the trickle of a stream, words meaningless and pale.

Hanzo, however, is heard bright and clear, every iota of Genji's being fully attuned to his brother. He speaks with a firm, unaffected tone, and Genji closes his eyes, sinks down a little farther. After what feels like an eternity in this stasis (and still not nearly long enough), a thumb presses to the side of his cheek, smooths down to run a half-circle around his lips, where they connect.

“Your tongue, ototo. Suck, now.”

His tongue undulates in waves, and a thick drop of cream smears along his palate. The moan is a helpless thing, so very pleased for this direct taste. His cheeks hollow with a light, loving suck. He does not move his head -- he has not been told he can.

Down here, the world falls away. If he were to live the rest of his life with Hanzo's cock in his mouth, the first thing he tastes when he wakes up, something sweet to suckle on as he drifts to sleep, that would be more than okay. 

He has asked for such things before, in quiet moments shared between them. Has teased the idea of Hanzo sat up on some magnificent throne, all of his underlings scrambling to pay their respects, while Genji simply kneels and sucks, out in the open for everyone to watch, to realize just how thoroughly he has been claimed.

_“I do not want them to see you,”_ Hanzo had said of the suggestion, a dark possessiveness clouding his eyes like a storm crackling hair-thin lines of lightning. _“I only want them to_ know _.”_

His brother begins to thrust. A slight motion. Barely an inch pushing in, pulling out. Lazy hips exploring the confines of Genji's mouth.

The noise wrenched from Genji's chest would be embarrassing, if he still felt such things. Instead, he merely strengthens his draw, suckling needily on the cock in his mouth. It grows between his lips, thickens, and pushes inward until the head meets resistance at the entrance to his throat. 

Hanzo stills.

“Hold. Right there.”

The hand on Genji's face slides up, into his hair. Strokes gentle fingers through clean locks.

Genji stills, eyelids heavy, fluttery, while his breath slowly siphons out of his lungs. He can feel the head throb against his throat, fill up the entrance with thick heat and little dribbles of slick warmth, Hanzo always so eager for him. 

After several long seconds, that thumb glides across his forehead, and his brother pulls back, allowing him to take a deep breath.

“Seventy percent,” Hanzo says from somewhere above him. The words trickle in and out. Genji nurses on the tip of his brother's cock, sighing with his need to taste more.

His arms rise, tentatively. Wrap slowly around Hanzo's torso. The hand in his hair gives a gentle pet, permission, _yes, Genji, of course,_ and Genji feels absolutely love drunk.

He pulls out all the way. Circles his tongue slowly, adoringly, around the head. Dips his wet appendage into the little seam at the tip, practically begging for his brother's heady flavor to grace the confines of his mouth.

Hanzo does not disappoint. Gets nice and leaky if Genji puts a bit of effort into it.

Genji always puts effort into it. 

After a few long moments, though, a sound above _is_ startling enough to distract him from his task. Scrape, creak, clatter. Genji is already pulling away by the time the hand in his hair clenches, drags him off. 

His wakizashi, tucked neatly in a belted sheath against the small of his back, is in hand in the half-second it takes for him to rise to a loose horse pose, center of gravity lowered, lips puffy and wet, well-used.

Tomomi is standing, eyes wild, flustered, with a sleek knife in hand, the seat having toppled over in his haste to stand.

Genji grins.

“Now where did you hide that?”

Hanzo, still untucked from his clothes, slick with his brother's saliva, and hard, levels a deadly look the stranger's way.

“I have some unfortunate news, Tomomi-san,” Hanzo says, the picture of perfect apathy. “The Shimada-gumi will be taking over your business.”

Genji gets the hint.

He's across the desk in one. Folding down like the dip of a wave to kick the man's legs out from under him in two. Blade a clean cut across a jutting jugular in three.

Three seconds. 

“I apologize for the mess, anija,” Genji says, cleaning his blade on Tomomi's cream robe. Blood leaks like a faucet out of the man's throat. Genji straightens with a frown on his lips, staring down at dark purple carpet. It will stain.

“That is quite alright, ototo. Come here.”

Genji turns. Sees that Hanzo's desire has not waned. That his brother is grinning, something wicked and proud, eyes a clear contrast, all soft and happy.

He approaches without hesitation, setting his wakizashi on the floor to be more thoroughly cleaned later. Hanzo rests both hands on Genji's waist once in reach. Smiles up at him like a wild thing.

“I will have you on my desk.”

A statement.

Genji bends, all fours, and snarls when Hanzo enters him, slick and easy from the preparation of his brother's tongue.

_Inu_.

The pace is far from soft. Fast and hard, fingertips on shivery hips apt to leave bruises. Genji buries his head in polished sakura wood and _whines_ , grinding back into his anija without thought or protest. Can feel the throb of him, how much Hanzo _wants_ , press mercilessly against his prostate.

“Anija, _please_.”

“So good for me. Such a good boy.”

_Inu_.

When Hanzo comes, Genji clamps his teeth against his own forearm, worried he might rip out a chunk of flesh. His brother spills warm and hot inside of him, an unbearably long orgasm that has Genji feeling messy, claimed, _owned_ , even before it is over.

Hanzo folds across his back. Holds him firmly in place while he grinds out every last drop, ensuring Genji takes all of it. Stays inside, even as he softens, a gentle pulse of hips rocking lazily in and out.

“Could keep you here all day, ototo. Stuck to the end of my cock.”

A mischievous hand slides around, grips Genji at the base.

“ _Please_.”

By the time Genji gets off to the leisurely tug on his cock, Hanzo messy and buried deep inside, his brother gives another twitch of interest, a firmer push of hips.

Genji growls, low and wanting.

_Inu_.


End file.
